


Haunted

by Paycheckgurl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Post-Season/Series 03, Very vague reference to Fall to Earth, ambiguous ending, canon typical gun use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paycheckgurl/pseuds/Paycheckgurl
Summary: Ianto Jones didn’t believe in ghosts. But he was one.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Ianto Jones & Martha Jones, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Martha Jones/Mickey Smith, Rhiannon Davies & Ianto Jones
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Happy October. Let’s get spooky.

Ianto Jones didn’t believe in ghosts. 

Ianto had the unique experience of being surrounded by colleagues, friends and loved ones that had experienced death...and came back from it’s brink. Some with frightening regularity. They described it as a darkness. As nothing. The existence of ghosts was maybe a pleasant way to think that those he lost weren’t really gone. That Tosh hadn’t _really_ died on the Hub floor bleeding out. That Owen hadn’t _really_ disintegrated to bits at a nuclear plant. That Lisa, his Lisa, had watched over his shoulder as he shouldered on without her. That they were still with him, still however trite it seemed, watching over the mess that was the remainder of Team Torchwood. It wasn’t true. And they weren’t. It was just...a cold comfort that could have been. Every time it could have been a ghost in his line of work, it never was. Just echoes. The Ghost Machine. Eugene. All echos from the dark or staving the dark off just a little longer before succumbing to it. 

Ianto Jones died on the floor of Thames House, in the arms of one Captain Jack Harkness, the love of his life. He died. In the year 2009. 

It was the year 2015. He was looking at Jack Harkness. Who was looking through him. And couldn’t see or hear him, despite the fact he was right there, in front of him. In 2015 Captain Jack Harkness was alive, and Ianto Jones was not. 

Ianto Jones didn’t believe in ghosts. But he was one.

* * *

Being a ghost, or whatever it was that Ianto was (he was pretty sure there had to be some kind of alien related, technobabble explanation), was a strange feeling. It seemed that he could bring himself to watch the lives of a few people in particular: Jack, Gwen, Martha and Rhiannon. If he just thought about them, hard enough, he was there. In their presence. 

Watching. Always watching. 

On this particular Tuesday, Gwen was getting her daughter (she had a daughter and that fact filled Ianto’s very dead heart with glee) ready for her dance class. She was wearing the tiniest little tutu. Ianto had never really known what to do around kids, but this was Gwen’s daughter. Gwen and Rhys’. And she was...perfect. Anwen. It was a pretty and ridiculously Welsh name that just fit the girl like a glove. 

“ _Hey Gwen_ ,” he said, in what was now becoming a familiar routine. “ _Me again. You can’t hear me...like always. Not really sure why I’m here and what the point of me being here is, really. But it’s nice to see you! To see Rhys. And little Anwen. She looks like both of you_.” 

Gwen, as always, went about her morning routine. 

“ _I miss you!”_ He called.

It was well trite, really. But the truth was trite sometimes. 

“Hair brush. Brush. Where did I put the bloody hair brush?” She muttered to herself. 

“ _Bedside_ _table_ ,” Ianto said. Gwen continued to not look at the bedside table, as was to be expected. 

“ _Really not sure why I try,_ ” Ianto mused. 

“Huh Rhys did you say something, love?” 

“No.” 

“Huh thought I heard something. Must’ve been Anwen. Have you seen my hairbrush?” 

“Oh you moved it last night. Have you checked by the sink?” Rhys asked.

“Oh right, must be.” She took a half step towards the bathroom. 

“ _Still the bedside table, Gwen_.” Ianto said, despite the uselessness of it all. 

She stopped mid step, and turned around and moved toward the bedside table. 

“Huh, right in front of me.” She said. 

Gwen quickly brushed her hair, giving herself the once over in the bedside mirror. She moved a strand of her long black hair behind her ears. 

He gave Gwen an invisible pat on the arm. She wouldn’t feel it, but it was his way of letting her know he’d be on his way to check in on the next friend on the list for the day. “ _Have a good day, Gwen.”_

She shivered. 

“Gwen honey, are you alright?” Asked Rhys. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright just...nothing I guess. Just a tad chilly in here. Remind me to bring the air conditioning down. Right, let’s get this one off to dance class.” 

* * *

So the thing was, Ianto had taken a lot of insurance out. Quite a lot, in fact. And Rhiannon had been his sole inheritor. He wished he wasn’t dead, or whatever it was he was now, but he was glad that while he was stuck in this state he at least had Rhi, Johnny, and the kids taken care of. 

The new house they had from the money was nice, and not in an estate where the locals nicked state of the art, supposedly break in proof, SUVs. Johnny was hilariously out of place here, but he seemed to go down to the pub to meet up with his old mates when he was missing the old block. 

The kids were older now. It was especially noticeable with David who had quite the growth spurt. And Mica, she was attending a good school on academic scholarship down the road and often came home in her posh uniform. 

Ianto hadn’t gone to a good school. Maybe if he had he wouldn’t have fallen in with the wrong crowd and tried so hard to impress them, even letting his grades and criminal record suffer in the process. He’d gotten out of that life, regardless, but a lot good that did him in the end. 

Little Mica Evans was going places, and hopefully for Rhi’s sake those places weren’t an early grave to haunt her old relations, the way of her Uncle. 

Ianto sighed. 

It would be on to the next visit of the day then. 

“ _Have a good day Mica_ ,” he said. For good measure he added an only half ironic “ _make good choices_.” 

He gave her a little pat, the same he’d done with Gwen. 

“Stop doing that,” she said suddenly. 

Ianto stopped still. 

“I’m too old for imaginary friends now. Go play with someone else.” 

* * *

Ianto watched Martha and Mickey from a distance. He never had the chance to get to know Mickey Smith very well in life. Something he regretted. It was clear that he was one of Jack’s closest friends, from the previous glances of interaction he’d been able to see between the two of them. 

Martha certainly seemed to like the guy. Enough to marry him, anyways. And Martha Jones was always a woman of good taste. 

“ _30 paces to your right,”_ said Ianto. 

Martha was unmoved. She stayed in her same place for the standoff with the Raxacoricofallapatorian. 

This was stupid. Both him trying to deliberately make some kind of contact, and the fact they were literally holding super soakers of vinegar. But then the Slitheen and their ilk had always been an especially stupid lot, so Ianto wasn’t sure what exactly he expected here. 

“Hands up!” Shouted Mickey. “Weapons down. This is a level five planet and you’re leaving it, mate!” 

Ianto wondered, not for the first time since watching them, if Mickey knew what exactly a level five planet even was. 

“ _Why do they always come here anyways?”_ mused Ianto. “ _Find a landmass somewhere that doesn’t use your greatest weakness as a common seasoning.”_

And then the Slitheen drew a pistol. 

Ianto wished very hard for it to misfire and shouted “ _Get down_!” As loud as he physically felt he could. 

Martha and Mickey got down. And the Slitheen’s bullet went the wrong direction. The kickback sent them back as Martha managed shoot the vinegar loaded water gun, disintegrating her attempted murderer. 

Mickey looked at his wife, offering her a hand up. “You alright?” 

Ianto came closer, and placed a hand on Martha’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” she whispered to nothing and no one in particular.

* * *

Jack was chatting up the girl in the pub. She was the barmaid behind the counter with big brown eyes and pretty, full lips. 

Ianto shouldn’t watch. He’d been dead for years at this point. Jack had every right to chat up whoever he wanted. And frankly, it was better that he move on like this, right? Better that Jack found some kind of happiness through it all. 

Pleasant lies to himself fueled Ianto’s ghostly existence. 

It would be cruel to expect that Jack would never move on. Especially when he had all of time and space to be alone. Especially when Jack’s view of relationships and monogamy had never really aligned with the 21st Century’s expectations, and he’d shown a lot of restraint while they’d been...what they were. But Ianto was also just a little bit selfish. 

“ _He’s spoken for.”_ Probably a cruel thing to say, but well, benefit of being a ghost. 

“Sorry?” Asked the girl. 

“Oh nothing,” said Jack. “Just admiring your hair. That haircut suits you.” 

“ _Jack, that may actually be the worst chat up line I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and you once told me ‘it’s a good thing I have my library card because I’m checking you out’. Her haircut is pretty? Come on Jack, you’re supposed to be good at this.”_

“Who’s side are you on here, anyways?” Jack stopped short. Almost as if processing the sentence he’d just heard come out of his mouth. 

“Well yours if you play your cards right, but that’s certainly a strange way to ask if I’m into blokes.” 

Jack blinked. “Right. I actually forgot I need to be somewhere else, sorry.” He dropped a sizable tip into the tip jar on the counter and ran outside. 

“Who’s there _?”_ He called. The pub had been out on the Plass. Their Plass. The opera house was to the right. Their base was…

“Torchwood!” Jack barked as a way of identifying himself. “Who’s there? This city is protected! Get out of here. Now!” 

“ _Jack it’s me_.” 

“Stop! Stop FUCKING WITH ME!” 

“ _Jack…”_

“Please. Whatever you are. However you got past my psychic defenses, just _STOP_ . What do you want? Money? A transport? Resources? I can get you those things, just stop, okay? Not him. Not him. Just please stop being _him_.” 

“ _Jack it’s me. It’s really me. I’m right here. I’m right here besides. I’ve always been.”_

“Ianto…” he managed. 

Ianto attempted to take him in an embrace. He didn’t typically hold contact long. His friends and family, prior to today, had never shown signs they felt him, despite the little hello and goodbye taps he gave them. But Jack really, really needed a hug. 

Ianto couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin. Making contact like this, was a bit like skimming a hand through the top of a pool of water. You could feel the sensation, but it only went so deep and was somehow always a bit different than you expected it to be. 

“Cold,” said Jack. 

He wasn’t comforted. 

In fact he passed out right there on the Plass. 

* * *

The hospital bed bleeped. Jack hadn’t died, just, appeared sickly. The paramedics and the hospital staff, who had known no better, had simply taken him in and treated him just like any patient. 

Eventually, Gwen rushed in a frantic look in her eyes. “There you are, Jack! Andy called me and said you were here. Said some folks saw you acting half mad on the Plass, and that you fainted. That you looked sick — and I know you do not get sick easily, Jack Harkness.” 

His name is said as a warning. A warning that meant “start talking now and don’t try to wiggle out of this with half truths, because whatever happened, we’re getting to the bottom of it.” Ianto couldn’t help but notice it was a very Gwen thing to do. 

“You didn’t die...did you?” 

Jack looked up at her. “For once, no.” 

“Then what happened?” 

“Either someone is really fucking with me, or I’m actually going crazy.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I thought I heard…” Jack stopped himself. “I think I’m hearing voices.” 

“Ok. I can name at least five species off the top of my head that can do that to a person,” said Gwen logically. “And I’m guessing you know a lot more.” 

“I don’t...I don’t think it’s any of them. I heard…” Jack stopped himself again. “It doesn’t matter. I felt cold too, like...like something reaching out to me. Just so...cold.” He looked like he was fading a bit. Looking paler.

“ _Oh Jack,”_ Ianto said despite himself. There was a heart monitor attached to him. It began to beep louder. 

“Gwen. I’m going to sound completely out of my mind right now. And trust me, I’m very aware of that fact. But did you hear that?”

“Your heart?” 

“No, not that.” 

“Do it again,” said Jack. “If you’re really here, if you really aren’t fucking with me, do it again so she can hear. So we both can hear.” 

“Jack what the _bloody hell_ …” Began Gwen. 

“Gwen shhhhh, shhhhhh.” And then Jack’s tone changed again. “Please. Please do it again.” 

“ _Gwen, Jack.”_ He said. He made it a point to reach out to them both. _“It’s uh, it’s me. You’ve...you’ve never noticed me before. But I’m right here.”_

For a second Ianto thought nothing had happened. But then it did. They both looked forward. At him. 

“Jack, if you’re going crazy,” said Gwen carefully, “then I am too.” 

Despite himself, Ianto borrowed one of Jack’s patented lines. “ _Did you miss me?”_

Ianto didn’t believe in ghosts. Neither did the remaining members of what was once Torchwood. But they were looking at one. His ghost. 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this during Torchwood Bingo, but couldn’t find a category on my bingo card to shoe horn it into. I mean, I guess I could have held onto to it for whatever Halloween event TorchwoodFanfests has planned, but ehhh let’s just post it up now to the celebrate official beginning my favorite season: or as I like to call it Halloween 1st.


End file.
